


out of date

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, TwitchRP
Genre: GTAV RP - Freeform, Gen, I had no idea how to tag this lmao, it's the bitches! what more do you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: jerry and ken stumble upon articles of fingle dan's past.





	out of date

“how old is this pile of rust, man?” 

fingle dan offered ken tucky an irritated glance before placing a hand up on the old beat up van he’d managed to dig out of an old storage unit. upon inspection, the van held no resemblance to the other cars fingle had driven. no pizzaz, just an entirely boring tone of burgundy accompanied by dusty windows and beat up seats. “it’s  _ vintage.  _ she’s been out of commission for awhile, be nice.” 

ken merely chuckled and side bumped jerry, barely stirring the man clad in armor and mask. he managed to climb into the passenger seat only after generously shoving dan dan out of the way- proceeding to rummage through the glove compartment like a raccoon. dan dan clambered over him, practically throwing himself in the back seat. 

“fingle dan ain’t the fingle man without the fingle  _ brand _ on his fingle  _ van _ , baby!” shouted from the backseat, dan entertained himself with his own rhyme schemes. “let’s spray paint this baby blue ‘n pink, boys!” 

while the majority of the gang threw themselves at the new vehicle- including robot, who seemed intrigued by the out of date engine under the hood, jerry found his gaze wandering back to fingle dan. he seemed… more distant than usual. odd for a man eccentric and obsessive enough to complain about previous vehicles being one shade of blue too light or dark. 

as soon as the moment arrived, however, it seemingly left as fingle dan made his way over to jerry- clapping a hand onto his shoulder firmly. “help me get my shit out of the trunk, jer.” in less of an inquire, more of a command. jerry didn’t mind, though. this was routine, as awful as that sounds. still, he knew fingle came from a caring place with his harsh words. 

the two managed to hoist the trunk door up, revealing box after box of miscellaneous items. collecting dust for the past ten or so years must’ve been nice. fingle dragged out the heaviest box and shoved it into jerry’s arms, mumbling complaints under his breath about how he’s  _ way  _ too old for this. fingle motioned for jerry to take ‘em away, put them somewhere else in the unit while he cleaned out the rest of the much lighter boxes. compliant as always, jerry did as he was told.

jerry moved to the corner of the unit, practically jumping out of his skin when ken came up behind him and crinkled something in his ear. the armored man softly cursed and placed the box down, giving his somewhat divided attention to the mulleted man with a slimey grin.

“dude, look. fingle dan  _ fucks. _ ” in a giggly snicker, crinkling a small square of plastic in jerry’s face. “found ‘n old condom wrapper in his glove box. didn’t think the old man had it in him-” 

jerry could only offer a scoff underneath the mask, turning back to the box he’d been so graciously forced to carry. He intended to shove it under the shelves and with the other storage units until the dusty labeled sharpie on the side caught his eye. as ken continued to ramble on about his contrived opinions on fingle’s sex life, jerry lowered himself to box height and dusted off the label. he squinted at the faded marker but managed to make out the text scribbled in what could only be described as fingle dan’s handwriting.  **do not open.**

well. we can all assume what happened next.

ken grew tired of being ignored by jerry, kneeing him semi-roughly in the back with a barked “ _ hey _ -” through his teeth, pocketing the rubber in his pocket. “you even listenin’ to me, man?” 

roughly shoving ken back with a hand, jerry grumbled in his direction and motioned for ken to lean down with him. with a slight shrug, ken dropped to his knees and scooted up to jerry. they slowly peeled back the tape and opened up the box- ken blowing the dust off the top in a quick breath. this isn’t to say the two were let down by what they discovered, but instead … confused? 

jerry hoisted a small crate out of the box, blowing the dust off of an extremely old collection of records. yeah- like, record player vinyls with covers and all. ken followed suit, pulling a slightly tarnished saxophone out with both hands. they exchanged quizzical looks before inspecting their respective items. jerry fished out a record from the stack, giving the cover a once over before popping the record out into his free hand. perfect condition, surprisingly. from the looks of it, it was jazz. that explains the saxophone, but-

wait.

“ken, look at this,” in an almost disbelieving tone, hushed and nudging his buddy quickly. he pointed at the record’s cover, popping the vinyl back into its slot and passing it to ken. the musician behind this record, low and behold, was credited to none other than fingle dan. in neat print underneath the cover art, his name in bold letters and accompanied by various other musicians credited as pianists and cellists. ken snickered lowly, arching a brow at his friend who was now violently rummaging through the stack again, record after record credited to  _ fingle. _

“ you’re’ tellin’ me fingle is a musician? and he can play the -- the… what was it,  _ oh-  _ saxophone.” silent beat, followed by a deep gasp. ken placed the record down and picked up the brass instrument, “dude, this is the saxophone! holy shit!”

jerry, while ken couldn’t see his true expression, was a bundle of various emotions. confusion for one, sure, but it’s friends included betrayal and amazement. fingle dan, their residential old man, used to be a  _ musician _ . he says used purely due to the obvious abandonment of his instrument and records, shoved away in a box in an old van he’d forgotten about. not just a musician, though. A  _ jazz band  _ musician, primarily performing in the seventies. why would fingle hide this? there’s no shame in this, there are worse things to hide from your closest criminal friends in jerry’s opinion. Infact, maybe he should-

oh my god. ken was attempting to play the saxophone. badly. 

the storage unit stilled as robot lifted his head from the engine and dan peeked out from the backseat, fingle dan rising slowly from his bent over position in the trunk. his expression was ice, wide eyed and  _ angry. _

“what the hell do you think you’re doing,” in a shaky yet firm tone, storming over to the two bumbling idiots and ripping the instrument out of ken’s hands before he could object. his grip was steel, casting firey eyes in between the two of them- his gaze landed on jerry’s, taking immediate notice of the records including the one now in the armored man’s grasp. his reaction was a quiet kind of explosive, free hand immediately going to pinch the bridge of his nose and eyes screwing up. the sharpest groan followed by the old man turning on the two of them- looking away to try and call upon inner strength from whatever god he worshipped at the time. 

“you’re a musician-” jerry started hesitantly,

“that’s none of your goddamn business, jerry.” snapped back fingle, turning sharply over his shoulder and setting his jaw firmly. “some friends you are, rooting through my private stuff-”

“sure, sure, kinda shitty of us to do that, it was jerry’s idea first but-” ken interjected casually, waving a hand absentmindedly and scoffing, “you didn’t tell us you were like, famous ‘n stuff, man!”

“i’m not.” in a sharp tone, fingle physically deflating with a sigh as his shoulders sank and gaze dropped. “.. not anymore.” he glanced over the instrument in hand, expression nostalgic and unreadable. a bitter smile washed over his features as a slight chuckle left his lips, sour tone dripping from his lips. “there’s probably a reason i haven’t told you guys, hm? did that ever cross your mind, ken?” 

ken went to respond but the words died on his tongue, clearly bested in verbal combat. jerry took the lead once more, standing back up to now face fingle dan straight on- towering over him. “.. we’d like to know. the reason, i mean. we’re your friends, man. you can tell us,” words immensely uncertain, tone wavering on every syllable, continuously getting worse as fingle’s brow arched.

“you just don’t know when to quit, jer.”

* * *

story time included four fifths of the bitches sitting in the back of fingle’s old van in the wide open trunk, dan dan flipping through the crate of records now beside him and robot. then there was ken, generously leaning on jerry, yawning softly and scratching at his stumble. jerry, however, was fully tuned in to fingle’s rambling; sitting straight up and watching him stand before the trunk, explaining his unfortunate run ins with fame. 

“you were in a band?” robot chirped in a low mechanical voice, tilting his head slightly.

“sure. you can call it that.” in a casual tone from fingle dan, shrugging his shoulders. “we played speakeasies and clubs, smoked cigars and entertained drunk idiots.” 

“for how long?” ken spoke this time, turning his gaze back onto fingle.

“i want to say… a good ten to twenty years of my life was devoted to music. I started in my early twenties,” in a thoughtful yet rough tone, scrunching his brows up in thought. this spurred jerry’s jaw to drop and robot’s eyes to widen. 

“twenty years of being a musician and this is the first time we’re hearing this?” in a surprised tone from robot, earning a hum from dan dan who seemed completely invested in the vinyl... for the wrong reasons, of course. by the looks of it, he seemed like he was seconds from chomping down on one of them. 

“it’s not my favorite thing to retouch on, robot.” in a rough sigh, fiddling with the reed of his saxophone in hand. “the music industry is a well working machine; when you become unneeded, the machine removes you. unneeded or, in my case, out of date.” bitterly, chuckled through clenched teeth. 

this was evidently a touchy subject for fingle dan, jerry discovered. 

“you should play for us sometime.” in a soft voice, something foreign for the breaker.

“maybe one day, bud.” 

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading! i might write more lil' bitches drabbles soon but until then, take this! just some casual world building.


End file.
